After
by Permanent Rose
Summary: /You want him to grow up—you want him to be your prince charming, the flawless image you once saw. But perhaps you need to grow up first./ Wemma


"Mr. Schue is dating Ms. Holiday."

You can't remember who you heard the rumor from. In a high school, gossip rises more quickly than heat, seeping into the ears of any person who's willing to listen.

The news leaves your mouth dry, your chest feeling a little tight.

You thought he was fighting for you.

As juvenile and as inappropriate that his recent courting has been, you can't help but to feel a sense of pride. You know you shouldn't, and most of the time you wish things did not have to be so complicated, but deep down, you can't help but to relish in this feeling of being wanted.

Last year you were no one. You were a woman on the cusp of middle age, threatened to spend the rest of your life alone, reminiscing in the could-have-beens.

But now you're the desire of not only one man, but two. Sweet, sweet Carl who would do anything to make you confident and happy.

And Will.

You want to hate him. Well, perhaps not hate him, but at least let him go, but you can't deny that merely hearing his name makes your breath catch, needing a moment to compose yourself. You invested a lot in Will over the past few years—you invested a lot, and no matter how hard you try to reclaim the pieces, you find a part of you is still stubbornly holding on.

You feel bitter upon hearing the rumor, the feeling laced with jealousy. You know it's hardly fair, especially because you have Carl now-and you want Carl. You really do.

And it's only right for Will to move on as well.

But a part of you still wants him to want you.

XXXX

He kisses your neck, right above the collar bone. His hands dance across you bare thighs, and you open your legs, letting his fingers enter you.

You moan, arching your back, tilting you head back as he continues to kiss you.

"You know, Will's seeing one of the teachers who subs at the school," you blurt before you can help yourself. You immediately clench your teeth together, cursing yourself as he gently pulls his fingers out of you.

Will has always been a prevalent topic in your relationship, seeing as Carl has always encouraged honesty and openness, and Will is the closet thing you've had to a relationship in your adult life.

But recently, you've found that Will has been slipping into your conversations more often than not. The words bottle inside of you, until you can't help but to say them, can't help but to blurt them out, temporarily relieving your guilt.

Carl lets out a breath, pressing his lips gently against your shoulder. "That's great, Ems." A hint of annoyance laces his tone, but he quickly suppresses it. "I'm happy for him-it seems like the guy's been through a lot, and I'm glad things seem-are you okay, Ems?" he asks when you swallow heavily. "I thought this was what you wanted for him, too; that you wanted him to move on and be happy-like you."

He lifts your chin gently and you swallow again. "You are happy, aren't you?"

"Of course, Carl," you tell him. Your words are not a lie. You are happy with Carl-he makes you feel confident, worthy. It's a relationship of equals-a relationship that works, and you are truly happy. Isn't this all you've wanted?

But your happiness is laced with guilt-feelings you cannot suppress no matter how much you tell yourself you want to.

"I love you, Carl," you tell him, the words lessening the tightness in your chest. You kiss the corner of his mouth, pulling yourself against him.

"I love you, too, gorgeous," he whispers in return, brushing your hair away from your face, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Your lips curve into a smile as well, letting everything else fall away, pretending that nothing else matters.

XXXX

"Hey, Em."

You look up from your desk, watching will open the door to your office.

"Oh, hi, Will," you tell him, your eyes widening a little. "What can I, uh, do for you?"

"I was just down at Figgins' office," he informs you, handing you a stack of papers. "He wanted me to drop these off."

You page through the stack, forcing your mind to focus. "Oh, scheduling information-thanks, Will."

You smile, and he smiles in return, though there's a hint of sadness lining his lips.

"So you and Holly, huh?" you casually bring up the topic, avoiding his gaze.

You hear him take in a breath. "Yeah…almost a month now…" he seems reluctant to share.

You swallow. "That's, um, great, Will."

He nods. The tension hangs between you.

"Are you happy, Will?"

He doesn't answer for a moment. "Yeah…I mean, our relationship is nothing serious, but she makes me happy—just like Carl makes you happy."

You lick your lips, averting your gaze from Will's.

"I'm happy for you, Will."

He nods, giving you a lingering look before leaving your office.

XXXX

You wrap your arms around his neck as he hovers over you, the movie you were watching all but forgotten.

"How was your day?" he mutters into your neck.

"Good," you let out a breathy sigh, and before you can consider the repercussions, your word vomit begins. "I saw Will today."

His kisses stop for a moment, but he soon resumes, choosing to ignore your comment.

"I bet he's not really happy with Holly—and knowing him, he's just gonna end up hurting her," you blurt before you can help yourself.

The words taste awful on your lips and you immediately regret them.

This time, Carl pulls away. "Damn it Emma, I've heard enough about Will. He is _not _part of this relationship."

A small whimper escapes your lips, and you feel so foolish and guilty. "I'm sorry Carl," you manage to mutter.

He sighs, his face softening. "Ems, it was wrong of me to snap like that…but in all honesty, I'm a little tired of you always bringing him up. It's one thing to mention him from time to time, but Ems, you've been doing it all the time recently—I don't want to seem petty, but this relationship is about us, and if there's still some unresolved things with Will you need to sort out, then maybe it's best if we take a step back."

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes, but you force them back. "Can you take me home?" you manage to mutter.

He gives you a sad smile, but he doesn't protest.

XXXX

You call him the next day, telling him that perhaps it would be best if you took a break.

His voice holds a melancholy tone, and you only wish the feeling of relief that washes over you didn't have to be edged with guilt.

XXXX

"Carl and I are, um, taking a break," you shouldn't feel the need to tell him this.

He glances up from the papers he's grading, licking his lips, seeming unsure of what to say.

So you babble on instead. "Just a break for now…but it's good for us, I think… or it will be," you swallow. "So how are things with you and Holly?"

He chuckles, and you're caught off guard. "Funny story, actually…I suggested that we could start thinking about moving in together. Next day, I got a voice mail from her, telling me she'd just left for a mission trip in Africa…never seen anyone so afraid of commitment."

"Oh," you push back a smile of your own. _Africa_? "I'm sorry, Will."

He shrugs. "It's fine. I don't think it would've worked out anyway…"

And before you know it, you're both laughing, until you feel tears form in your eyes.

XXXX

_I miss you. _

You find the note tucked under the mug on your desk, the handwriting immediately familiar.

You mind flashes to Carl for a moment, but you push back the heaviness in your throat, smiling faintly at the note instead.

You miss him too.

XXXX

"Well, well, well. Look who it is."

The voice is all too familiar. You bite your lip as you turn around in the line at the grocery store, seeing Terri Schuester pull up behind you.

"Hello, Terri," you mutter through clenched teeth. There has always been something about the blonde woman that enrages you.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" her voice is sickly sweet, and you feel your stomach churning.

"I'm doing quite well, actually, Terri," you lie to her—she has no need to know about the guilt that plagues you. You always feel the need to defend yourself when confronting her—and rightfully so. Terri Schuester will squash you if you leave any room for faltering.

"Glad to hear," she forces a smile. "Like to share exactly what's going so well?"

She's put the bait out there and you foolishly take it.

"Terri, I really don't want to talk about Will right now. I'm not seeing him anymore…haven't been for a while now…" you're beginning to ramble a little, and you don't miss Terri's sly grin.

"Oh, no—I'm well aware of that, sweetheart. Last I heard he was seeing some floozy substitute," she says, sounding nonchalant.

"Actually," tell her, lifting your chin, "They're not seeing each other anymore, either."

Terri doesn't miss the faint smile, the faint flash of smugness in your eyes. "If you think you're next in line, sweetheart, then you're mistaken." She pauses for a moment, watching your eyes widen, and your stomach knots with sudden foreboding. "Bet he forgot to mention to about the sex we had a couple months ago…" she examines her nails, but her eyes shine as they fall on yours for a split second.

"What?" you can't stop the word from slipping from between your lips, nor the hurt and anger that follows.

"Poor dear was sick…got a little lonely so I came over to take care of him. And I know _just _how to take care of him," she's grinning now, enjoying it as you wither beneath her power.

Your mouth hangs open, unable to process the information properly. Unable to formulate a proper response.

"I'm just gonna head over to that other line," Terri tells you. "It's shorter. Bye, hon."

She mockingly waves as you, wheeling her cart away.

And all you can do is stand there, watching.

XXXX

"What the fuck, Will?"

You storm into his office, your anger rising. You don't care who hears you. You don't care at all.

"Emma, what's going on?" He jerks his head up from his desk, glancing over the rims of his glasses, looking confused.

"Sleeping with your ex-wife, huh?" you cut right to the chase, and you watch the color drain from his face. "It's one thing to actually date Holly, but to sleep with Terri? And don't tell me it's justifiable just because you were married to her. I thought you were changing, Will...I thought you fucking cared, but I guess I was wrong."

XXXX

You're damn sick of crying. You're damn sick of feeling alone. Hurt. Foolish.

You want him to grow up—you want him to be your prince charming, the flawless image you once saw.

But perhaps you need to grow up first.

XXXX

"Are you sure you want another one, darling?"

The bartender looks at you, a concerned expression lining his face as you shove your empty glass toward him. " 'it me up," you slur, your head falling against the countertop.

He reluctantly fills your glass, and you shakily reach for it, the liquid sloshing down your chin. You only finish half the glass before you slump over in your chair, your cheek resting against the surface of the bar.

"Do you have someone who's coming to bring you home?"

It's the bartender again, and you lift your head, feeling dizzy. He's watching you with that expression of concern again, and you realize he'd probably wondering how a nice girl like you ended up here.

"I'll call," you assure him, reaching for your phone. It takes you three tries to page through your contacts and select the correct number.

"Hey...Emma? Is everything okay?" his voice is a little groggy, but you're head is throbbing to the point that you don't think anything of it.

"Will, I need you," you manage to mutter. "I'm sorry 'bout yes'erday..."

"Emma, it's fine—but where are you?" his voice is frantic, and even in your hazy state, you can pick up on that.

His question hardly registers. You just want him to know that you don't want to let him go. "I jus' got so angry, and—" you hiccup, and you have to pause to take a breath. "I wan'ed things to be diff'rent."

"It's okay, Em," his voice is steady, unwavering. "I promise we'll talk more about it later if that's what you'd like...but right now I need to know where you are."

Another hiccup surfaces, and your phone slips from your trembling fingers. "Oopsies," you look at the floor, feeling dizzy.

"I'll get that for you," the bartender quickly, picking up your phone from the floor.

He brings the phone to his ear, and you cradle your pounding head in your arms, feeling woozy.

You lift you head, hearing the tail end of the conversation. "And I am sorry to be intruding like this—but I'd just feel irresponsible letting her leave on her own in this condition—she's a mess."

He hands you back your phone, smiling sympathetically at you. "Your boyfriend's on his way, darling."

"Boyfriend..." you mutter, wrinkling your brow, the word only half registering. You lower you spinning head back down to the countertop, you mind slipping in and out of consciousness.

XXXX

"Em? Can you hear me?"

Your eyes flutter open, and you squint, your stomach turning as the dull light hits your eyes. "Will." You grin weakly, trying to stand, falling to his arms as soon as you do so.

He wraps his arms securely around you, and you find yourself leaning into his chest. He grabs your elbow, gently leading you toward the exit, mouthing a 'thank you' at the bartender as he does so.

"Wait..." you muttered as you step out side, turning frantically back toward the door. "I forgo' my umbrella..."

"Your umbrella, Em?" Will gives you a quizzical look. "I'm pretty sure you didn't bring an umbrella."

Lucky for Will, you drop it, stumbling along beside him. But you soon stop, clenching your stomach.

"Em? We're almost to the car..." he assures you, gently tugging at your arm.

"I think—I think I'm gonna be sick." Your face pales, and your stomach knots. "Oh, God..."

You buckle over, vomiting onto the sidewalk in front of you. Will takes in a sharp intake of breath as you begin to sob, looking at the mess you've created.

"It's alright, Em...shhh," he tries to soothe you, pulling you away from the sidewalk as you continue to blubber. He hold you against him, and you feel yourself relax. "Let's get you home."

He remembers where your condo is from your brief dating days, a godsend on your behalf, because you're quite sure you wouldn't be able to look at the road without getting sick again. Instead, you curl up in the passenger seat, squeezing your eyes closed, occasionally muttering things that even you can't understand.

"We're here," Will whispers, the car stopping. He pries the buckle undone for you, leading you into the house as you lean your weight on him.

"Why don't you go get ready for bed, Em?" Will tells you as he pulls the spare key from under the mat—the one you always keep there in case of emergencies—opening the door for you and leading you down the hall.

You nod, stepping into your room, pulling your clothes from your flushed body. But the room's starts spinning and your stomach turns. You fall back against the bed, moaning.

You hear a knock on your door in what could be seconds or eons later—your muddled brain can't seem to make sense of anything except how sick you feel right now.

"Em?"

You squeeze your eyes closed tighter, focusing on your breathing, trying in vain not to get sick again.

"Oh, Em..." he sighs, and you hear his footsteps pad across the floor. You feel to sick to care that you're only in your bra and panties. "I'm sorry..."

You want to tell him not be sorry—that this is all your fault. But your stomach heaves, and you run down the hall, falling to your knees in front of the toilet.

You're trembling so much when you finish that Will has to carry you back to your room. He places you gently on the bed, wiping your sweaty hair away from your forehead.

"I nev'r drink," you mutter, letting your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not surprised," he chuckles lying down on the bed beside you.

You turn to face him, feeling much more relieved and in control now that your nausea has run it's course. You reach to place your hand gently on Will's shoulder.

"Thank you.." you murmur.

"Just try to get some sleep, Em."

You nod, beginning to shiver a little. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury you face in his neck, breathing in his scent, tears beginning to spring to your eyes because you just feel so damn lost and confused right now.

And you're dying for just one thing to feel right.

Just one thing to make you forget.

You press your lips against the skin of his neck, feeling him stiffen, but he makes no move to pull away. Gently, you trail kisses up the length of his jaw, pausing before you reach his lips.

"Em," he whispers, his sweet breath ricocheting off your face. Plunging through your guilt, you press you lips against his.

The first time you have kissed him instead of the other way around.

He doesn't stop you—at least not at first, and you're both panting when he pulls away.

"Em, we can't..." he mutters, sitting up, but you continue to cling to him.

"Is it so wrong to want to forget?" you practically beg, tears welling in your eyes.

You're feeling so much that you can't even begin to express.

For a moment, it looks like he might give in. His breathing is ragged, and he inclines his face toward yours every so slightly.

"No," he tells your softly. "It's not wrong to want to forget..." he brushes your hair softly away from you face. "But I've been there too many times, Emma. I've given into that feeling of desire just to make all the other pain go away...and it's not worth it. Even if you were sober right now, it'd be hardly right of us to do this." You turn you face away, feeling hot, feeling embarrassed.

Feeling alone.

But he tilts your chin back toward his face, leveling his gaze with yours. "Emma Pillsbury, I never want to hurt you again. You mean so much more to me than compromising ourselves for fleeting emotions...I want this to mean so much more than that."

You feel foolish, but the alcohol clouding your mind keeps the emotion for settling too deeply.

You're afraid he's going to leave, when he pulls away from you, but he returns a moment later with a nightgown, smiling faintly in the darkness, and you pull the material over your body, falling back against your pillow.

He reaches for your hair, stroking it lightly, singing a softly, his voice so faint that you can't hear the words, until sleep claims you.

XXXX

He's gone when you wake up the next morning, and you groan when you read the clock, the angry red digits blaring.

It's already past noon, and your head is throbbing terribly.

As you sit up in bed, a burst of color catches your gaze—a bouquet of assorted flowers, resting on your nightstand.

You search through the blossoms, looking for a note.

But you find none.

XXXX

"Hey, Eileen," you sigh as you enter the office, approaching the receptionist desk, rubbing your fingers together gingerly.

You've never handled awkward situations well.

"Oh, hello, Ms. Pillsbury," she greets you, curiosity lining her face as she recognizes you. You remember when you spent almost as much time in the office, always greeted by Eileen's pleasant smile as she knowingly waved you back, winking as you disappeared behind the door.

Now, she seems a bit unsure, as she glances back toward the door the separates the waiting room from the examination area.

"Is, um, Dr. Howell in?" you ask the pointless question, your voice faint as you avert your gaze from hers.

She nods. "He's on his lunch break." You know that. And she knows that you know that. "I'll, um, just call back and see if has a moment to see you..."

You nod, stepping back to sit on one of the vinyl chair to wait, tapping your foot anxiously.

"He'll be out in a minute," Eileen tells you, and sure enough, a moment later, Carl appears in the doorway, offering you a feeble smile.

"Want to come back, Ems?"

You nod, rising to your feet, looking at the floor as you step over the threshold. He snaps his plastic gloves off and places his examination goggles on the countertop, leaning one elbow against the surface as he turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "So what you you want to talk about, Emma?"

You bite your lip, forcing yourself to keep your gaze locked with his as you push the words from your tightened throat. "I'm sorry."

You know this is something you needed to do months ago, but you're only managing to muster the courage now.

He pulls his eyes away from yours, looking at his feet for a moment, running his fingers through his cropped hair.

"Apology accepted," he tells you. "Though I don't really understand exactly what it is you're apologizing for—Ems, relationships fail all the time. Things don't work out, no matter how much we might want them to. And that's okay. It's okay..."

He's being much too good you, just as he's always been. He the opposite of you, always handling situations with maturity—and if he internalizes hurt that way you do, he doesn't show it.

"It's not okay," you mutter, your throat so tight that it's a wonder you can speak at all. "Relationships don't work out all the time, but they at least start out with hope...I always knew, Carl. I always knew that we wouldn't work, even if I was in denial...and it was never fair of me to lead you on and drag you down the way I did..."

He sighs heavily, his brow furrowing as he considers your words. "You're not a manipulative person, Ems. And yes, maybe you can look back now and see your mistakes, but I doubt that was going through your mind when you decided to start seeing me. I saw a confused girl who just wanted to move on, a girl who wanted a second chance—and I was so happy to be the one to offer you just that.

"I don't regret what we had, Ems. And I hope you don't either. A part of me is always going to miss what might have happened, but Ems, I'm the last one to hold you back..." he sighs, giving you a sad smile.

"Thank you, Carl," you whisper, looking at your feet because you know you can't look into his eyes without guilt tearing through you. "I think I'd better go now..."

He nods, and you dare to take a fleeting glance at his face. "Hey, any time you need to talk, I'm here," he tells you, and you manage a nod as well. "I wish you the best of luck with everything. Really, Ems, I do."

You barely make it out of the office before the tears stream down your face. You slip into your car, letting your sobs tear through you.

When your tears have run their course, you shakily turn the key in the ignition, returning home. You collapse against your bed, feeling spent.

You don't know what you want anymore.

But as you turn your head, you see Will's bouquet of flowers, illuminated by the faint glow of sunlight.

XXXX

"Hey."

You look up from your lunch, your eyes falling on Will, holding his own paper lunch bag.

"Mind if I sit here?"

Your throat tightens for a moment. You haven't talked since your embarrassing encounter on Friday night.

His simple request, his endearing expression plunge you back to a time a before, a time when you thought you knew everything, when in reality you knew nothing at all. Your heart hurts a little, as it always does when your nostalgic side gets the best of you. You miss your innocence, in the same way you long for your only childhood, but even you have learned the importance of change, despite the pain that often accompanies it. You miss _before_, but it's _after_ now.

It's _after_, and you've learned the importance of growth. The importance of maturity, of finding yourself.

The importance of second chances.

"Of course not," you answer him, motioning to the chair beside you.

He lets out a heavy sigh as he sits beside you, and you brace yourself for apologies, resurfacing pain, an attempt to mend all the brokenness.

You swallow, trying to decide what it is you really want, hoping to prevent this conversation becoming something you might regret.

"Em, I—" he stops, catching your gaze. He lets out another breath.

"Why don't we just start over?"

His words catch you off guard; it takes them a moment to settle within you, and when they do, a feeling of relief fills you, as though a burden has suddenly been lifted from your shoulders.

You reach for your lunch box, opening the plastic container to pull out your sandwich. Will glances from his lap to your eyes, licking his lips, as if debating whether or not to say something else.

But you answer before he can decide, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Wanna go halfsies on a PB&J?"

He grins as well—an easy smile that lets you know some of his burden has been lifted as well. Your fingers brush his lightly as he takes half your crusted sandwich from you.

"I'd love to."


End file.
